Oh Arya
by Unique .F
Summary: In free Alageasia, Arya has managed to recover from her loss of losing Faolin. But so has Eragon... ONE-SHOT I reread this, and decided I wanted to revise it due to some unrealism. Warning, it's probably even worse, but you never know till you read!
1. New

**I read back over this. I wanted to rewrite it. So I did, and here you have it.**

_Oh, Arya_

Eragon

He stood with quiet assurance in the moonlight, feeling the spray of the salt on his skin. The crash and hiss of the ocean's lapping waves rushed and eddied around his bare feet, caressing his hyper-sensitive skin. Rain pelted down from the darkening skies, making tiny holes in the sand, grey without sunlight. Rocky cliffs encircled the secluded cove lovingly, like hugging arms.

Behind him, a few trees bent and creaked in the whiplash wind, providing scant cover from the rain, should he so choose. Their pale, pretty branches weaved in the sky like drunkards. To his right, a gigantic rock reared proudly out of the sea, perfectly sized for a dragon, defiant of the angry waves attacking its foundation. Rockpools were scattered among the rockier parts of the beach.

The sky was bruised, the soft purples and blues of dusk covering the horizon. The burning golden yellow orange of the sunset was no longer visible in the onrushing night.

Despite the wildness of the storm, the Blue Rider found himself in peace. He was in a state of meditation, but strove to open himself to even nature herself in this rare, feral moment. _For a night like this, _he found himself thinking, _the ocean sleeps._

It was true. The sea was ruffled by the wind, and crashed with great vigour against Dragon Rock, but did not seek to reach him standing boldly at the water's edge.

As with everything, serenity seemed to have descended on this sheltered cove in the middle of nowhere. Ever since Galbatorix had been defeated in a superhuman endeavour of Eldunarí and his plaintive plea to the dark king to understand what he had done, twisted and warped into the worst torture imaginable. Eragon's eyes closed in sadness for that loss.

Almost thirty years had passed since Galbatorix had died. In that time it seemed as if everything had changed, so drastically, he could not recognise it. The world was calm, and gentle. No violence existed in his heart but the grieving, the mourning for those lives he had taken, destroyed. No longer could he recognise the impetuous boy who had set off on his quest, nor the determined man who had striven to discover a new way to destroy.

Now, truly, he walked the path of peace. He wondered what Oromis or Brom would say if they saw him. He smiled wistfully.

It seemed to him that he had defeated Galbatorix in the Battle of Ura'baen only to be embroiled in the Battle of Politics. He was unable to free himself of the petty trivials of leading a large group of people- and the Riders had prospered. He had been shocked by the explosive growth and reproductive rate of the dragons. Within a few months, Saphira had laid almost thirty eggs. She said that the mating patterns were often lengthy and eggs rarely hatched at all, but because of the low population dragons had been born faster to eliminate the threat of extinction.

Just remembering the chaotic hatchery made his forehead settle into weary lines. He felt prematurely aged- he was only eight-and-fifty.

_Things should have been simple, _he reflected. _But everyone has changed so much, it is as we were not as acquainted as I believed we were._

Or maybe he had just changed so much he no longer recognised them. Orik was still ruling the dwarves, as Arya was the elves, but Nasuada and Orrin had passed down their respective thrones to their heirs. Eragon had been only mildly surprised when Nasuada married Murtagh. The love between the two had been almost painfully obvious.

If possible Orik had grown even more like his foster-father Hrothgar, canny and wise, and Arya was still as eternally beautiful and painfully cold as she had been before. Bearing in mind he had only seen her twice since he had set up the riders on a distant shore.

As if his thoughts had summoned her, his elven ears clearly picked up the sounds of soft footsteps, whom he easily recognised as Arya. He turned to face her, his serious brown eyes studying her face.

Arya

She had been lying to herself for so long, she had almost blinded herself to the truth.

But in that moment of painful honesty the elf recognised and knew how she drank up the sight of the blue rider like he was sunlight and she a dying flower- the broad shape of his jaw, his features, too rugged for an elf, too perfect for a human, hair cut sensibly short and neat. And his eyes! Such weighty seriousness behind his eyes. So young. He should not look so aged and be yet so young.

Yet he had never been as young. He was so changed from the hotheaded youth who had approached her at the Ageati Blohdwren. She had trusted him once, she knew that. Trusted him enough to reveal her true name- and he her, which told her the depth of his feelings for her. And she had known then that his love for her was real, not a casual crush. And as Fírnen had swept her away, her heart had been ripped out of her chest to remain with him.

It had taken her years to figure out what she was missing. Eragon. It was always Eragon.

But now she was here, she had no idea what to say. The rain soaked her through, and she felt a brief flush of mystifying girlish embarrassment before she sternly corrected herself. She was not a child.  
>"Eragon," she finally said.<p>

"Arya Svit-Kona," he replied courteously, twisted his hand over his sternum in a gesture of respect and inclined his head. "Atra esterni ono thelduin."

It hurt. It hurt like hell having him talk to her like that. "Please Eragon, no formalities between us."

He straightened, and replied in the same polite, blank voice as before, "As you wish."

There was a long, awkward silence. Eragon turned back to his contemplation of the waters. Arya stood beside him, wishing desperately she had the courage to take his hand. She wanted so deeply to feel his rough grip.

"Eragon, I-" She began.

"Arya-" He stopped, and motioned politely for her to go on.

She swallowed. Now the time had come, she was terrified. Nerves clenched in her stomach. "Eragon, Eragon...I-I...I think I love you," she admitted, scared and quiet, like a little girl, hiding her face under a curtain of hair.

He said nothing.

The silence stretched on. Arya's cheeks blushed deeper with each passing second until finally she could take it no longer. She looked up.

It was as if she were falling backward, into a deep, dark pit, with no handholds, only smooth, unclimable walls. That the light was slowly narrowing with each passing second. Her stomach dropped and her gut twisted with fear. _Please._

Eragon looked down at her, and for the first time she realised he had actually grown taller than her. He looked at her and she could see the compassion in his eyes. "Arya." He said her name softly, but not softly in a lover's voice. A whisper. "Oh, Arya."

Then he stared back, over the sea, and closed his eyes. The loss of his gaze wrenched her.

"Once," he said, in a faraway voice, as if he no longer knew she was there, "I followed an elven woman into a starry glade. I pleaded for her hand, begged for her to let me prove my devotion to her. She asked me to cease my pursuit of her. She was old and I was young, it could never be."

"Eragon," Arya whispered. She knew her own words were being thrown back in her face.

"I cried that night. As I cried every hour after, for many, many months. But I did my duty. And I did it well, hoping to please her. Hoping, that I would receive some favour. But it never came. I did as she asked. I dropped my suit of her." He sighed humourlessly. "I tried to find someone of my own age to be with. And now here she is, asking for me as I once plead to her."

Arya could feel the moisture brimming in her eyes and prayed it wouldn't spill over. Her heart throbbed with pain. Until this moment, she had always thought the term heartbroken was a simple exaggeration of lovestruck fools. She never would again.

He turned back to her, and there was fire in his eyes. "I loved you, Arya Svit-Kona, I loved you as fully and permanently as I love Saphira. But you made me promise to let you go. And I did." He spread his arms wide with a mocking laugh. Arya stepped back, shaking her head, her mouth forming words that she could not speak.

"Eragon!"

Arya's head snapped up. She stared through the hissing rain at the soaked form of a woman approaching them.

"Coming, Ayedail," such love saturated his tone! Arya would have died to hear that turn on her.

"Eragon! Don't go!" she begged, falling to her knees. She didn't care it was unqueenly, or that her dress was probably ruined, or that the gritty sand was uncomfortable. She reached out for him. All she knew was that if he left now, she would lose him forever. "Eragon." She whispered his true name. Nothing happened.

He gentled, and smiled kindly at her. "Goodbye, Arya."

"No!" she choked, but he did not turn. Silent, no more words to speak, no more pleas to cry, she watched his broad back disappear into the pouring rain.

The elf's eyes burned from not blinking, and as she finally submitted to the urge, a single tear rolled down her cheek.

Briefly she had known love, had known what it was like to run and sing and laugh with no restraints...

Then he had died, leaving her alone.

Alone.

Then _he _had shown up, the Rider, rescuing her.

Healing her.

Loving her.

And she had spurned him, yet he had persisted.

For _her_ hand.

Then it seemed as if he didn't care any more, that he had moved on. Arya was left empty, alone.

With no one that understood her, no one that cared.

She had mourned Faolin, yes, but this was worse. Faolin had died loving her...

While Eragon didn't care.


	2. Original

**And this is the original, so you can see how far I've fallen. Badly. Or risen. **_  
><em>

_Oh, Arya_

Eragon

The Blue Rider stood with quiet assurance in the rain. The soft purples and blues of dusk covered the horizon, the golden yellow sunset no longer visible. Rain pelted onto the sandy beach, creating tiny holes filled in once again with the darkening sand. Waves crashed against the shore, against the rocky cliffs encircling the seculded cove like hugging arms. Behind him, a small stand of trees offered scant comfort from the light rain. Their pine needled branches rose high into the dusk sky.

To his right, rockpools scattered along the more rocky part of the beach. A long, flat rock rose high, taller then the rest, perfectly sized for even a dragon. Far away, the occasional fork of yellow lightning shattered the quiet night.

_For a night such as this, _Eragon noted, _the ocean was unusually calm, with the darker blues of calmer tides. But still, this cove is sheltered mainly from the tides, perfect for swimming. _

Ever since Eragon's flaming sword had smote Galbatorix from his throne, serenity seemed to rule over the stricken land. Arya's green dragon, Eridor, had mated with Saphira to produce a whole clutch of Riders, twelve in all. Even the youngest had graduated to fully fledged Rider, a year after Galbatorix had died. Vreonguard was re-established, and Alageasia restored.

_Things should have been simple, _Eragon mused, _but yet still actions and thoughts of those around me startle as much as they should had we not been aquainted as much. _Only two months ago Gleadr had begged to be destroyed, to join his partner now that Eragon's instruction was truly finished.

His elven ears picked up easily the sound of soft footsteps, those of who he easily recognised as Arya. He turned, his serious brown eyes studying her fair face.

Arya

The elf stared at Eragon, mesmerised by his features, his chin slightly to broad, ears pointed, eyes serious, blond hair cut short and neat. Regret and a pitiful longing welled up inside her.

"Eragon." Arya's lips formed the name, her emerald eyes gazing at the rider.

"Arya." returned Eragon, his voice perfectly stable and courteos, completley different from that of the hot headed youth who had proposed to her at the Ageati Blohdwren.

"I am sorry, Eragon! Please forgive me!" Arya fell sobbing onto the sandy beach, something she'd never do.

"About what, Arya?" Eragon's voice was genuinley puzzled.

Hope welled within her. Maybe he did love her?

"For all the pain I have caused you. Will you forgive me?" Arya asked.

Eragon smiled. "I already have, Arya."

"Thank you Eragon!" Arya rushed into his arms, hugging him tightly.

She didn't expect him to go stiff, as any other man would. Surprised, she looked up.

Eragon chuckled. "Oh Arya."

"Eragon?"

Eragon began to shake with laughter. "Oh Arya. I told you so. I told you that one day you'd come crawling back to me. And now I've found someone else."

"Eragon!" A female voice called.

"Coming Nasuada!" Such love saturated his tone.

Arya's tears glistened like the morning dew as she watched who had once aspired to be her husband run to his waiting lover.


End file.
